


There's No Way To Do It On Our Own

by TheMutantHonk



Series: Febuwhump2021 [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Broken Bones, Claustrophobia, Explosions, Fasciotomy, FebuWhump2021, Field Surgery, Graphic Description, Hurt Jason Todd, Injury, Jason Todd Has PTSD, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Procedures, Memories, Panic Attacks, Scars, Stream of Consciousness, Surgery, Triggers, field medicine, no beta we die like jason todd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:35:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29521659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMutantHonk/pseuds/TheMutantHonk
Summary: “Bet you’re feeling real thankful for B’s field medicine lectures right about now, huh?” Jason gave Dick a tense smile, hopeful it would prompt one out of him.It didn’t. Dick only stared back at him, a tense twitching at one side of his mouth giving away his distress.“You uh. You do remember those, right?”
Series: Febuwhump2021 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2168589
Comments: 2
Kudos: 106
Collections: febuwhump 2021





	There's No Way To Do It On Our Own

**Author's Note:**

> Febuwhump Day 17 - Field Surgery
> 
> Please do not consider fanfiction a reliable source of medical information. If you're ever in need of medical help, I seriously hope you're calling 911 and not checking the tags on AO3 for something that might be useful. 
> 
> That said, I am not a medical professional. This is self-indulgent whump, spawned entirely when I saw the words "field surgery" so I could torment my favorite boys. All my medical knowledge comes from classes I took in high school, some personal experience, and the occasional book or google search on the subject. I'm fully aware that this is inaccurate; I'm simply twisting reality around to make it convenient for this story. On that note, as this is fanfiction, I should mention that there's an amount of comic book logic in here, and I know nothing about explosions beyond "convenient plot device." 
> 
> Title from Crown the Empire's Memories of a Broken Heart. Mistakes are all my own; feel free to point any out to me.
> 
> There are some elements in here that can be considered triggering, so please check the end notes for warnings and stay safe!!!

Move. Move move move, he needed to move. Five seconds left. _Can't breathe heart pounding can't move._ Three seconds. One.

_Impact of something firm, solid, slamming into his side._

“Hood!”

_A body, arms and legs and yelling, so much yelling–fire sharp sharp sharp like splintering in his leg, crushed–_

“Come on Hood! I need you awake! Don’t make me hit you.”

_Beep! Beep! Beep!_

_So much noise, the thunder he’ll never forget, buildings crumbling, dark dark darkdarkdark there’snoairsomuchsmokemudsmokemudwetgrassfingersbleedingemptyemptyemptyempty–_

A splintering crack, something heavy creaking, groaning, falling, painful weight lifted off him along with a familiar grunt of exertion, or maybe frustration. Both, likely. 

“I'm about ten seconds away from shocking your ass awake, Hood!” 

It was the desperation in Dick's voice that registered with Jason first, followed quickly by the shrill buzzing and beeping in his head. He must have made some kind of satisfactory response, as Dick shook his shoulder again, some distant part of him registering it was the one part of him that didn't hurt. “Finally! Now will you please disable your helmet before it blows us both up? _Please?_ ” 

_Beep! Beep! Beepbeepbeepbeep–!_

That...that seemed like some sound advice, okay. Yeah. His hands moved on muscle memory alone, powering the system down about the same time that he realized the beeping wasn't exactly in his head. His eyes began to focus right about then, and he blinked dumbly for a few seconds at the now-frozen timer in front of his eyes. Okay, maybe Dick was right to sound a little desperate with how close that was cutting it. After that initial adrenaline spike, his mind cleared enough to register that it was the only working display at all. While the beeping stopped with the countdown, there was still a shrill ringing, but now he could make out the distinctive static of a fucked up comm signal. 

“Fuck, ‘Wing,” Jason groaned, grimacing at the sound of his own voice. Even the voice modulator was screwed up. Shaky hands reached up, pulling the proper latches to release his helmet, and a set of hands joined his to help ease it off. 

“That about sums things up,” Dick confirmed, his bullshit cheerful tone immediately grating on Jason's nerves past the still-present buzz in his ears. The irritation was welcome, given all he could see was Nightwing’s domino illuminated by a bright orange glow. 

_Too dark, too little space, so much debris and destruction, the smell of smoke, burning burning burning–whathurtsmorewhathurtsmore–_

“What the fuck.” His voice was rough, tight, like he had to scrape it together and forge it past the rock in his throat. He’ll blame that on the cloud of dust still settling in the air. At least Dick had the forethought to break open a glow stick before Jason got his helmet off. Better than letting him see complete darkness. Barely. Not that there was much to see. 

They’d been lucky, it would seem. Now that he could function, he remembered someone – _Dick_ – slamming into him, knocking him out of the way of...something. Likely, part of the wall that had crumbled over and around them. It seemed to create a pocket of some sort, effectively trapping them without crushing them – yet. The creaks and groans of an unstable wreckage were audible in the darkness. There wasn’t much room, just enough for Dick to sit up, Jason too, but he wasn’t ready for that just yet if he didn’t have to. Not when he was pretty sure he had a broken leg and there was nowhere to go, to escape. 

__At least it’s not a locked door.

Dick gave him a long look before he spoke again, and even in the glowy dark and wearing a mask he could still portray obvious concern, but thankfully didn’t comment, letting Jason have his moment. It gave him the opportunity to assess the other vigilante, noting grime smeared across his cheek, a split lip, arm held close to his side. Either holding pressure against ribs, or against an injured wrist. Or both. There wasn’t much else to see through the black and blue of his suit, but it didn’t look like he was hiding a debilitating injury, so Jason would take it for the time being. Priorities. 

“Explosion.” 

Right. That tracked. He made a sound of affirmation. He remembered that much. They'd cleared the rigged building, but only got as far as the next over, before the walls came down around them in the narrow alley. They hadn't had the chance to make it to the rooftops, exactly what had slowed their escape down significantly. If he looked hard enough, he could probably find a twisted fire escape, even a dumpster. 

“We’re not in immediate danger from the sounds of things, now that _your bomb_ is under control, so we’re low priority. Probably gonna be here a while.” Great; he wanted to spend his night trapped under rubble. Should’ve brought a deck of cards. That would help distract from his tingling skin, _numbnumbnumb_ face, roaring thoughts that were everywhere and nowhere. Dick's head tilted, finger up to press against his comms unit. It made him want his own comms up and functioning, rather than being outside the conversation and privy only to Dick’s end of things. “Red Robin and Spoiler are also trapped, minor cuts and bruises. Everyone else cleared and are helping emergency personnel with civilians. Batman’s requesting our report. You were–” his voice faltered, for a split second, stalling on what he might have said instead– “out, for a moment there. What are your injuries?”

It was that neat little _“I”_ word that got through his lowkey panicked haze, allowing the faraway feeling to leave his body oh so helpfully. Jason groaned as he shifted, letting his head fall back to consider the answers. The ringing in his ears was fading, not worth mentioning. The worst was definitely his leg, a dull ache that exploded outward with sharp little bolts of lightning that he did his best to ignore. It started in his tibia, little sparking starbursts radiating out across the whole leg, from his hip into his toes. His gloved fingers ran along the helmet in some way to ground himself but it was useless; the damage in the equipment was obvious even through the thick material, even with his numb tingling fingers, and boy wasn't it pleasant to think about what state his head would have been in without it. 

“Probably just from the shock of the explosion; I don't feel concussed.” And _that_ was a box of trauma neither of them particularly wanted to open tonight. Pass, hard pass, thanks. He took a deep breath, and there was a bit of soreness across his torso, but for once there was none of the typical _splintered/sharp/fireworks_ that signified a break, so he moved on from that, cataloging each injury as he spoke. By now, an injury assessment was second nature for them all. “Bruised back and ribs.” From Dick knocking him out of the way, having frozen up when the countdown in his head reached the final seconds. Could have been much worse; Dick wasn't built like a tank but he was still his own slender wall of muscles. “Bruised everything, probably, minor cuts and scrapes. The usual. Right leg is definitely broken.” _A? B? Forehand backhand forehand forehand–_ “Considering the last time I was caught in an explosion, this is like a walk in the park.”

He didn't have to see it to know Dick was grimacing at him. Dick might not agree with the humor, but laugh or scream okay? 

At least he wasn’t _hearing_ laughter. There would be no holding himself together if his mind conjured up that particular memory. 

“Your leg was pinned under a slab for a few seconds there,” Dick admitted quietly, nodding to the offending concrete. Right. Jason thought he'd felt something pulled off him. Heard Dick struggling with the weight of it. 

Dick took the moment to relay the information over, Jason noting that he omitted any details about his own injuries as he spoke into the comm, and shifted down toward Jason's feet in the limited space they had. It had tightness gripping his chest again and he lifted his head to keep Dick in his line of sight. There was enough light to see the black-clad body go still, a frown on his face when he eased up the cargo pants to get a better look at the injured leg. The hem stuck at the base of Jason’s calf, until there was a light rip along with the glint of a wing-ding. Jason couldn’t bring himself to fake an irritated snark as the murmured chatter to Batman about their situation abruptly dying off into something more serious. 

“Is there any way we can get that ETA bumped up a little? Low priority isn't as accurate as we thought.” And there it was, the Nightwing voice. It sent a cold feeling into Jason's gut, despite how hot it was around them. 

“What is it? What's wrong?” 

There wasn't an immediate answer, but the glow stick moved down so he could see better, and the orange cast an eerie illumination across his face and the white lenses of his mask as he investigated. “Severe amount of swelling around the site of the break, and if I had a better light I bet there'd be some discoloration and bruising already. I think we're looking at compartment syndrome.” 

“Well shit.” Unfortunately, it made sense. Even like this, Jason could register that it was an unusual amount of swelling already, lining up with both crush injuries and bad breaks. The leg felt bloated and tight, with the break a fiery burst of splinters right in the middle of _dead weight,_ numb and tingling dead weight. Blood and fluids building up likely thanks to the slab of bricks that caused the break in his tibia, impeding blood flow, something that he wanted fixed _now_ before an amputation was in order. 

“Bet you’re feeling real thankful for B’s field medicine lectures right about now, huh?” Jason gave Dick a tense smile, hopeful it would prompt one out of him.

It didn’t. Dick only stared back at him, a tense twitching at one side of his mouth giving away his distress. 

“You uh. You do remember those, right?” 

“Of course I–” Dick cut himself off with a frustration exhale, jaw clenching as his hand went back up to his ear. Jason pretended he didn’t notice how much they were shaking. “Yes, B, I _know.”_

“Please don’t hang up on the guy who’s going to tell you how to save my leg.” See? Jason could be amiable if he needed to. It went ignored.

A light series of tapping met his ears _–tap tap tap tap–_ and it took a second for him to register the dulled sensation in his fingertips to recognize it was his own fingers, thrumming out a rhythm against the helmet clenched in his hand. He focused on that, letting himself take a backseat to the one-sided conversation as he timed his breaths to it. _Tap breath, tap tap tap hold, tap breathe out, tap breath, tap tap tap hold, tap–_

“Hood.” Dick’s voice was strained, snapping Jason’s attention back to him. He spoke in a low tone, keeping careful control on each word. “They’re at least an hour out on recovery. No manpower to spare yet and the wreckage is still unstable. If we wait, your leg–”

“Cut the shit, N. I know how this works,” Jason interrupted, putting as much irritation into his voice as he could. So much for being amiable. “Just- get on with it.” 

Get on with it. As if he wasn’t telling his brother to go ahead and slash his leg open.

“...Painkiller?” Like Dick didn’t know the answer to that. A flat look told him what he needed to know and Dick nodded, taking an obvious steadying breath, then another. His hands were still shaking, but as he gripped the wing-ding tightly, the shaking slowed to a slight tremor instead, until he relaxed with his own breathing. 

Jason just hoped Batman didn’t take his sweet time. The infection that was going to set in from the dust still floating in the air and grime they were sitting (laying, in his case) in was enough to turn anyone’s stomach. 

The next few minutes passed in broken spurts, while Jason reminded himself to breathe and stay in the now as Dick worked through the supplies they had between the two of them. He murmured occasionally, alternating between conversing with himself and the comms. It was clear after a moment that he was speaking with someone else, Alfred possibly, the other person walking him through what it was he needed to do. His quiet voice was as grounding as the steady pulse of ache in his leg, but as he paid attention he could feel a slow numb sensation build throughout the swelling. 

Moving his toes did little to alleviate the numbness, but it sure did spike that splintering pain all the way into his spine. Into his _teeth._

“Not to rush you or anything N,” he forced out between his teeth, “but I’m starting to lose some feeling here.”

“Right. Yeah. I just. Just gimme a sec.” He flashed Jason a grin, meant to be comforting. In a way, it was, despite that Jason could see right through to how worried his older brother really was. He knew Dick would be trying harder to hide it, would succeed, if it were Tim or Damian here with him, but they both knew Jason wouldn’t put up with the bullshit either. He didn’t need kid gloves, and Dick wasn’t going to indignify the both of them by trying it. “This is going to make for a wicked scar.” 

Jason shrugged the shoulder on his not-as-sore side, smirking at him. It probably looked more like a grimace. “It’ll match the rest of them.” _Like the precise Y-shape dropping from each shoulder joint to run down his chest, splitting open his body, marred along the edges by baseball stitches. He could feel the phantom itch inside him, where they dried the flesh with cotton so his corpse didn’t leak and ooze while they searched for what exactly was the cause of death, as if all those shattered bones and smoke-burns in his mouth and trachea weren’t obvious–thank god they left everything inside him instead of replacing it with filler–_

“...Right.” Dick interrupted that spiraling line of thought, a too-knowing look on his face that Jason briefly wanted to punch right off him. “Do you want me to tell you what I’m doing, or–”

“Something else.” He answered too quickly, but Dick gave no reaction outside a short nod as he settled down to get to work, and Jason said a silent thanks that Dick’s dominant arm wasn’t the one that had been injured. Small miracles. 

“I’m taking Steph shopping this weekend,” and Jason would pause to wonder where Dick was going with that line, but then _fire_ up the length of his leg, slow burning, lining right up with Dick’s smooth speech and hey shopping sounded like an excellent subject now. “Yellow nail polish got spilled on one of her dresses, and who even knows how that’s _my_ fault, but we could make a day of it anyway. I probably owe her for something or another anyway.” 

“Probably?” Jason snorted, not even bothering to fight the pain in his voice now. There was a blade opening him up; even the big bad Hood was allowed a bit of leeway for that one. “I bet you owe her a whole wardrobe at this point.” 

“No brownnosing,” and if he weren’t in the middle of separating Jason’t flesh from itself, Jason knew he’d be pointing that wing-ding in his direction like a mom pointing a finger at her mouthy child. Funny visual, seeing as Dick was basically momming all of them when he wasn’t part of the chaos himself. “You’re just saying that to get her on your side.” A pause, indicative of him listening to whatever was coming through his earpiece as he dragged the blade the final few centimeters. “Apparently it’s working.” 

“Of course it is.” Eyes slammed shut as Dick drew the blade away, taking up clean bandages to sop up the heat that spilled over the gaping cut now, the tinny scent in the small space filling his nose, settling on his tongue, turning his stomach as he reminded himself it wasn’t in his mouth, spit up from abdominal injuries. He wasn’t sure if it smelled rancid because of the fluid that built up inside his leg, or because the memories soured the scent for him, much like they did rain and mud and wet grass. 

And just like that, he forced his eyes open again, setting his gaze firmly on the white lenses of Dick’s domino. He wondered briefly if the night vision mode made it more difficult to slice him open or not. 

“Of course it is,” Dick agreed, the sarcasm in his voice betraying the eye roll he likely wished he could do now. He continued speaking as he cleaned up the wound, and Jason pretended he couldn’t see the dark smudges on his fingers from the corner of his eyes. “As if you didn’t already have her on your side.” 

“Learn to keep something in your kitchen that isn’t cereal, and she might consider your company too, Dickhead.” 

“I do eat more than cereal and take-out, you know.” A sigh, because this conversation was about as old as any other he had with just about everyone who knew him, and Jason was well aware of that. “You think this lithe figure could be maintained on junk alone?” 

“Just keep telling yourself that, ‘Wing.” He took in a slow, controlled breath as Dick finally pulled his hands away from Jason’s leg, setting the bloodied wing-ding on the other side of him out of Jason’s line of sight. The next roll of bandages came out, and Jason ignored them, tried not to think about having to cover the wound so more dust didn’t get in, so he didn’t bleed too much while they waited. That they couldn’t splint his leg or bandage it too tightly until he could be looked at in the cave. Tried not to think about the sensation of clean cotton pressing into the inside of his flesh.

He never thought he’d look forward to a wound wash so much in his life. 

“Start with waffles,” he said suddenly, stumbling over the words. Dick, the saint, acted like he didn’t even notice. “She’ll love that. Maybe take her for a manicure or something.” 

“She can hear you. Now I won’t get credit if she has a good time.” Dick actually pouted at that, dragging a surprised snort of laughter from Jason. 

“Well if you ever had good ideas, you’d get credit for them.” 

“I have plenty of good ideas.” 

“Like pushing the Red Hood out of the way when he’s too stupid to move himself?” That was spoken softly, just quiet enough the comm might not pick it up, but Dick would.

“...Yeah. I think that was a pretty good decision on my part.” Dick’s mouth twitched again, this time closer to a genuine smile, but he gestured down, toward Jason’s leg. “Sorry I didn’t get all of you out of the way.” 

“And I’m sure the guilt of that will be keeping you up at night.” Jason huffed, using his good leg to nudge at Dick’s knee. “Whatever. It gave you a chance to play Doc Thompkins’ understudy, right? I lived.” 

He pretended not to notice the face Dick pulled at that, or that he knew his brother was thinking _‘this time’._

“Yeah. Yeah you did.”

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: 
> 
> A character is in a situation which triggers some flashbacks to previous trauma. I tagged for panic attacks and anxiety because of some mild symptoms to be safe, though there isn't exactly an actual attack. There are some allusions to the trauma, such as an explosion, mild symptoms of claustrophobia, being buried alive, and a very mild description of injuries. There is a slightly detailed description of an autopsy scar and vague allusions to what an autopsy entails. There are also undetailed descriptions of a "field surgery" given the prompt, though it's far from graphic. 
> 
> I also warn for the fact that I ran out of steam less than halfway through, so this is not one of my best works. Read at your own risk on multiple accounts!
> 
> If I missed anything here that anyone thinks should be warned for or tagged, please let me know and I'll do my best to fix that.


End file.
